


Aftermath

by StormDancer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actually Not As Dark As It Sounds, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Pining, Recovery, Slavery, mentions of past non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer/pseuds/StormDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another world, Zayn would be on the bed already, and Louis would be tasting every inch of him. He’d be writhing with pleasure, taken care of properly, shown what true pleasure can be, not just the pretense he’s probably had. He’d show Zayn that even in the camps, far away from the city glamour, there’s real pleasure. He’d have Zayn screaming his name, begging for him. In that other world, when Louis hadn’t won Zayn in a card game. When the chains around Zayn’s wrists that kept him with Louis were emotion, not gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Though this fic is, as tagged, not as dark as it sounds, and is about recovery and such--note the tags. Note the warnings. If you aren't sure if this fic is something you could read, come talk to me [here](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/) and we can discuss it. I tried to treat the subject as sensitively as possible, and there's nothing graphic and no sexual abuse happens onscreen, but there could definitely be missteps or difficult moments. 
> 
> And caveated, the views expressed or strategies for dealing with trauma utilized in this fic by any characters are not necessarily the views of the author. 
> 
> That being said: enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> **Update, 6/28:**
> 
> People have been very upset at me for this fic, calling it racist and offensive. This note is not excusing myself of that. I would like to say that it was not my intent--I didn't consider the slavery in this world through a racial lens and I cast the characters as I did for reasons unrelated to race. It didn't occur to me that Zayn's Pakistani ethnicity would read as offensively as African-American (as well as other ethnicities) would have, which is the fault of me and my ignorance. However, once it was brought to my attention, I can definitely see why people are objecting to the fic on those grounds, and I would like to apologize for that. I am not going to delete the story--I'm not going to erase my mistakes, but to acknowledge and own them and try my best to learn from them. However, know that I am aware of those issues, and will strive to do better in the future.

“You don’t have to do this.” Louis swallows. He hadn’t expected this. He’d thought he’d shut this down already, that they were done with this. Done with coming home to Zayn on his bed, sitting up with the blankets falling from his shoulders down to reveal bare hips. Louis gives himself one glance, one quick, helpless glance, at all that skin, the black ink and golden sheen, the soft skin and hard muscle, then he makes himself look at Zayn’s eyes again. He’s not a good man, but he’s better than that. “Zayn, we talked about this.”

Zayn stands, letting the blankets fall away. He’s naked as the day he was born, more naked than the day Louis won him in a stupid bet, incapable of letting this gorgeous man with the sad sad eyes stay in that hellhole of a camp a second longer. It had been hard enough resisting the temptation then, when Zayn had sunk to his knees, offering what he assumed Louis’d expected in return. Now, a week later, with Zayn as clean as you can get in the camps, in Louis’s old clothes and at least a bit more meat on his bones, and so very naked, Louis has to will his arousal away fiercely and mostly unsuccessfully. In any other circumstance—but this isn’t how he needs to get sex. Not from someone bought and sold, with that chain around his wrist still, the one that marks him as a slave. He’s better than that.

“You should go to bed. Your bed,” Louis adds. He takes a step back. He’s not used to retreat, but he’s never met an attack like this one, like everything Louis ever wanted wrapped up nicely and neatly in a package he can’t have. He doesn’t own Zayn, not really. Not in this way.

“I could warm your bed. It’s been cold.” Zayn is in front of him now, his head ducked so he has to glance up at Louis through his lashes. Louis’s nails dig into his palms. In another world…in another world, Zayn would be on the bed already, and Louis would be tasting every inch of him. He’d be writhing with pleasure, taken care of properly, shown what true pleasure can be, not just the pretense he’s probably had. He’d show Zayn that even in the camps, far away from the city glamour, there’s real pleasure. He’d have Zayn screaming his name, begging for him. In that other world, when Louis hadn’t won Zayn in a card game. When the chains around Zayn’s wrists that kept him with Louis were emotion, not gold.

“That won’t be necessary.” Louis’s voice is admirably steady, he thinks. “I’m fine for the night. Go back to your bed.”

For a second, Zayn’s face flickers, his brows contracting. “Am I displeasing to you?” he bites his lip, and Louis wants to kiss it away, to soothe the hurt. “Is that why you don’t want me in your bed? I…”

“No,” Louis snaps. Displeasing is the last word that comes to mind, when he thinks of Zayn. God, the first time he’d seen Zayn, all he could think about was what it’d be like to fuck him, that gorgeous boy with the not-quite-dead-yet eyes, standing next to Carter like he’d rather be anywhere else. Louis’d been winning, that’s why he kept going back to Carter’s game, he’d told himself. Kept winning, because he was good and clever and never got caught cheating. It had nothing to do with the boy, or the flashes of life he’d seen in his eyes, or the way, once, Louis had gone outside for a smoke and seen the boy crouched over, petting one of the stray cats that roam the camps. Nothing to do with the glare the boy’d sent him when he’d caught Louis looking, like he was daring Louis to say something. Louis’d seen slaves before, those who ended up selling themselves into a contract for whatever reason, food or medicine or support or just pure desperation, like happens in the camps too often, if you play by the rules. But he’s never seen one like Zayn.

“No,” Louis repeats, because he doesn’t want Zayn to think that. To think less of himself, because it’s pretty clear he already doesn’t think he’s worth very much. “Zayn, no. I just won’t, not after what you’ve been through.”

Zayn’s lips twist, and his head tilts. “Then what did you buy me for?” he demands, sullen.

Louis has to smile at that. He sounds like one of Louis’s sisters. “Because you deserved more than that. Because I wanted you to have what you want?”

“I want you.” Zayn’s mouth gapes open just a bit, and the look he gives Louis would be coquettish, if it wasn’t so clear it was a front. Zayn’s shit at lying. There’s something Louis likes about that. It’s rare, out here in the camps. Everyone here’s a liar.

“No you don’t.” Louis pats at Zayn’s shoulder, a little awkward, but he doesn’t know how else to convince him. Zayn blinks, and when his eyes open again there’s none of the put-upon flirtation, none of the aggression. Just confusion.

“Then what do I do?” he asks, and Louis lets his hand drop. He shouldn’t be thinking about this.

“Whatever you want.”

\---

Zayn sticks close to Louis. They went north, past the Lakes that glow just faintly green enough that Zayn gapes as they passed, to the Newcastle camp—Louis didn’t think it was a good idea to stay close to Carter, not when he’d won his favorite away from him, and when a preliminary trip to the Registry had revealed that however Zayn had sold himself, it had been too under the table to simply undo. They’d have to move, Louis knew. And by Zayn’s own admission, he’d never been to another camp before, and that makes it better, Zayn’s amazement. Louis laughs a little, at Zayn’s big eyes as he looks around, drinking it in. The arm he slings around Zayn’s shoulders is companionable. Nothing more.

“Well, Zaynie,” he says grandly, gesturing to the market with his free hand, “Ready to go shopping?”

Zayn’s close enough to Louis’s side he can feel him shift. He doesn’t like asking for things, Louis’s noticed. Doesn’t like being given things, either, though he’s taken the clothes and food Louis’s given him, if with ill grace. But it’s within a master’s—fuck, he hates that word—rights to outfit his slave, so Zayn can’t say anything.

He doesn’t. At Louis’s urging, he picks out his clothes himself, checking in every time he tries something on for Louis’s reaction. Louis tries his hardest not to say anything, not to do anything to give him away. Zayn needs to choose this for himself. He can’t be influenced by how Louis wants to follow him into the changing room and strip off all his new clothes and assure him how amazing he is. Louis’s a horrible person for even thinking that,.

It’s only when they get back to the rooms Louis’s renting that Louis shows him his haul. “Here,” he says, tossing the belt onto the bed. It’s gold, a bit gaudy, but he’d seen Zayn looking at it, and it had been easy enough to nick.

Zayn smiles, big and broad, and for a second Louis thinks he sees how he might have looked if he’d never gotten desperate enough for the worst part of the camps, if he’d been born into the cities. It’s beautiful, more beautiful than anything Louis’s seen before, and he’s seen sunsets over the London Wastes to make a man cry. “It’s beautiful.” He reaches down for it, strokes the strands between his fingers. “It’s expensive.”

“I can give you a gift if I want.” And he hadn’t exactly paid for it. But he’s not sure how much Zayn knows about him yet,and he doesn’t want to give anything away if he doesn’t have to. Zayn will leave soon enough, and he can’t give him too much information when that happens.

“I don’t want gifts.” Zayn shakes his head, then nods. “I’ll pay you back.”

Louis’s spent almost three weeks with Zayn, and he doesn’t trust himself to stand up to this, not always. He’s a con man and a thief. Who knows what else he could be, with such temptation. “You don’t have to.”

Zayn looks up, and there’s something sparking in his eyes. It’s so much better than the dead eyes he’d had with Carter. “I don’t like owing people.”

Louis gets that. Louis hates that too. Hates that he feels obligated to uphold it, like Zayn must, that the camps haven’t sucked everything good out of him yet. “I’m not going to fuck you, Zayn.”

Zayn’s eyelashes flutter, and somehow he curves inward, so he seems smaller, though he’s about Louis’s height. But somehow, all at once, he looks less. Less than he is, than even he was when he was glaring sullenly at Louis over that cat’s head. “I’d be so good for you.”

“No,” Louis repeats. His hands tighten into a fist. He’d gotten a smile out of Zayn, a proper one. He’s not cheapening that. “It’s not going to happen.”

Slowly, Zayn nods, and he straightens again. “Then teach me how to pay you back.”

“What?”

“You didn’t pay for the belt.” Zayn says it certainly. “And I saw you cheat, at Carter’s. Teach me how. I’ll make back the money you spent on me.”

No one sees Louis nick things. No one’s ever caught him cheating before. This boy, with his big eyes and sharp bones and air of a wild animal, he did. That has to mean something. Louis can teach him to survive. Zayn deserves that, at least. Teach him a trade so that he can choose his life.

Louis grins, and lets his fists relax. “That I’ll do.”

\---

Zayn’s good. Really fucking good, and Louis should have expected it—people in the camps learn to do what they must to survive, and it’s clear Zayn’s a survivor. He’s good with his fingers, quick and nimble in a way that has Louis going a bit breathless sometimes, trying desperately not to think about it; he’s got a good mind for card counting. Sometimes Louis wonders just how much he learned, watching Carter. But it’s his face that works wonders. Louis’s good on the con, he knows that. But no one stands up to Zayn’s face, or the way he shifts from vulnerable to coquettish to friendly in an instant. Louis hates it sometimes, that he had to learn; others he’s just in awe.

“There.” Zayn tosses the open lock on the table, setting the lock pick down next to it. “Was that right?”

The way he looks at Louis as he says that twists in him, the open face, the question. Zayn’s been growing by leaps and bounds, growing into himself—he hasn’t propositioned Louis in months—but he still looks at Louis like that sometimes, like Louis’s approval is the only thing he needs in the world. He hasn’t learned yet that Louis’s approval is probably a good sign that he should go the other way. It’s heady. No one’s ever looked at Louis like that, not since he left his sisters with one less mouth to feed.

Before Louis can do something stupid, like kiss that look off his face, or curl his fingers around Zayn’s neck and tell him all the things he’d do, all the things he’d give him, if Zayn only asked, he picks up the lock. It is well done—no marks from the picks. If it were a door, it’d be a clean break.

“It’s good,” he confirms. He takes a step closer to put the lock back down, and if Zayn does get a little tense as he gets nearer, it’s not as bad as it was a month ago. “You’re good, kid. I don’t have more to teach you. You’ll be cleaning me out in no time.”

Zayn smiles, soft and shy and pleased. Louis’s pretty sure he hasn’t been praised nearly enough. “I had a good teacher.”

“I’m really not.” He’s always been a horrible teacher. But somehow it’s different with Zayn. But he shakes that off. “Ready for a real target, then?”

Zayn’s smile grows into a grin, wide-eyed and excited, and he looks like one of those old photos of kids on Christmas morning. “Really?”

“You’re ready. Partner.” Zayn beams, and then his arm is around Louis, squeezing him in a tight hug before he lets him go, bouncing off to his own bed, presumably to get properly dressed. Louis sits frozen, still caught in the feel of Zayn’s body pressed against his. He hadn’t gotten close to Louis before, not without the tension of his expectations. He’s still a slave, Louis repeats to himself, still tied to Louis not of his own choice. Still went through so much, deserves so much more. Still not Louis’s to have.

\---

The bar’s loud, raucous. It’s the end of a workweek, and everyone’s celebrating, so it fits right in with the mood, with Zayn’s brilliant smile as Louis elbows his way through the crowd to a table. He’s been glowing since his first successful score, and Louis’s not glowing much less; Zayn’s enthusiasm is contagious. And some of it is Louis’s own, to be honest; it feels good to have a partner. Feels good to have Zayn as a partner, with his quick fingers and quick mind and irresistible face. He’d been wasted, with Carter.

“First round’s on me,” Zayn announces, as Louis tosses his bag on a table. Louis shakes his head, nudges Zayn with his hip.

“Nah, you stay here, stake our claim. I’ve got this one.”

Zayn’s brow furrows. “I want to pay you back, not owe you more.” He tilts his head down, so he’s not quite looking at Louis. He still says his next words loud enough for Louis to hear, though, over the pounding of the music. “I can never pay you back, for what you’ve done for me.”

“I don’t need to be paid back.” Louis’s fingernails dig into his palms. Zayn was bad when he was simply the lovely boy Louis’d gotten out of a bad situation. Now, after weeks of travelling, of training, of Zayn’s bouts of silliness and bouts of overwhelming sincerity, of how he listens to Louis like he matters and how he’s started talking back to Louis too, biting and quick, of knowing what he looks like grumpy from just being woken and wired on caffeine, dripping wet from a shower and glistening with sweat—now, Louis takes a deep breath. “It’s a celebration, isn’t it? Celebrate your first job. You did great.”

“I messed up. I should have moved—”

“You did great,” Louis cuts him off. It’s true, it hadn’t been perfect, but no one is, the first time, and Zayn had done far better than Louis had, when he was figuring it out.

Zayn presses his lips together, then nods. “I’ll get the next round,” he declares, and Louis ruffles his hair and leaves before Zayn can snap at him for it.

He gets to the bar, orders two beers, and leans back against the bar. In the sea of drab fabricated clothes and downtrodden workers beaten into submission by the camps, Zayn stands out like a sore thumb, like a rose in a field of wheat, like a diamond in a pile of sand. It’s not just the lines of his face, the set of his bones—there are other attractive people at the bar. There’s just something about Zayn that transcends the smoke and dirt here. Louis knows it, had known it right away. Zayn’s meant for more than this. And how good he was today just confirms it. He’ll rise far. Louis should be proud to have started him on his way, and to be able to remember this when he leaves.

Louis turns back to the bar to get the drinks, and when he looks back at Zayn, there’s someone at the table. A man, some sort of laborer from the set of his shoulders, is leaning on the table, saying something to Zayn. Zayn shifts on his stool, listening.

Louis takes a deep breath, before he gives in to the urge to storm over there, punch that guy in the face, slide his hands onto Zayn’s skin and lay claim. Zayn doesn’t owe him anything. If Zayn wants to flirt, he should. He’s not Louis’s. Louis shouldn’t even want him.

The man leans closer. With him leaning and Zayn on the stool, they’re about the same height, but Zayn’s doing that thing he does, that he did with Carter, where he somehow pulls himself in, makes himself smaller. Makes himself, Louis’d thought, into what they wanted, out of fear for what they’d do if he wasn’t.

It’s not—that’s not what it should be. Zayn can flirt, sure. But not like this. Louis picks the beers off the table, and elbows his way through the crowd toward Zayn.        

“Here.” He shoves the beer at Zayn, using the motion to set himself up next to Zayn. He’s not actually taller than Zayn, if anything he’s maybe a bit shorter when Zayn’s in the boots he’s started to favor, in what Louis speculates is a response to the thin, impractical slippers Carter had kept him in, but when Zayn’s like this he feels larger than him. Protective. It’s a feeling Louis’s used to, with his sisters, but there’s something different about this, and Louis’s not stupid enough to pretend he doesn’t know what. He turns his coldest smile on the man there. “Who’s this?”

“John.” The man holds out a hand, and Louis eyes it. Whatever he said, whatever he did, had Zayn drawing into himself. Has him leaning away from Louis too, his head ducked, so different from the competence he’d shown earlier. “I—”

“He’s not interested,” Louis snaps. Zayn glances at him, and he almost looks scared, or maybe surprised. Like he thought Louis would let him go with this John. It makes Louis want to punch Carter in the face, over and over again until he bleeds. What did he do to Zayn? “So go away.”

“He didn’t say that,” John protests. He is big, bigger than Louis, and he draws himself up to loom.

Louis’s not impressed. “Well I am. Go away.”

“Fine.” John settles back down, his eyes narrowed. “But if you’re going to go around with a slave, you should teach him not to be provocative like that.”

Louis feels Zayn start, but at least John’s gone. The second he moves away, Zayn’s hand’s on Louis’s shoulders, that same scared look in his eyes. “I didn’t, Louis, I swear, I wasn’t trying—I was just standing here, like you said—I didn’t mean to do anything, don’t make me go back, I was good, I promise—”

“Zayn.” He’s still babbling, clutching at Louis like Louis’s going to send him back to Carter. “Zayn!” Louis snaps, and Zayn stops abruptly, flinching back.

Louis takes a deep breath. He can’t be angry. He’s so angry, but he can’t be, not right now. “Zayn,” he repeats, more calmly. “I know. He was an asshole.”

“I didn’t,” Zayn insists. All that excitement from earlier is gone, and if Zayn weren’t here right now Louis would probably go find John in some dark alley, for taking that away from Zayn.

“I know.” Louis covers Zayn’s hands with his, as if that’ll assure him that Louis won’t make him go back. “I know. Or, I mean. I don’t care, either. If you had wanted him—well, not him, he’s an asshole—but I’m not going to…you can do what you want. You know that.”

Zayn looks at him for a second more, then his shoulders drop, as if all the air’s gone out of him. Like the fear left, and now he’s just empty. “You could stop pretending, you know.”

“Pretending?”

“That you aren’t going to fuck me, sometime.” His hands are moving, sliding up Louis’s shoulders, to lock around his neck, in a smooth, almost sinuous motion. Zayn’s head is ducked again, and Louis recognizes that expression—recognizes how he’d looked at Carter. “It’s all I’m good for. You’ll figure that out. He did, he only had to look at me to know. You saw how I messed up on the job, anyway.” Zayn presses closer, and Louis hates himself for the curl of arousal that goes through him, as Zayn twines against him. “Just get it over with.”

“Bullshit.” Louis pushes Zayn away, more roughly than he maybe should, but not fifteen minutes ago Zayn had been glowing, and now he’s back here. Zayn catches himself against the counter, the beer sloshing a little as his weight hits the table. “That’s bullshit, Zayn.”

“You will. You want to.” Zayn shakes his head, pulls himself up. “I’m not stupid. I know how you look at me.” Shit. Louis’d tried to be careful, he’d tried to be as sure as possible he wasn’t imposing anything about this stupid, inconvenient attraction that’s growing into so much more. He should have known Zayn would see. Zayn’s probably been forced to be attuned to that.

“Yeah, and I won’t do that.” Louis takes a deep breath. “I’m not Carter, Zayn. And you’re so much more than that.”

“I—”

“And tonight,” Louis cuts Zayn off. “We’re going to have a drink, to celebrate your first score.” He pushes the beer closer to Zayn. “Partners.”

Zayn looks at the beer, then glances up at Louis, his lips twisted into a bit of a smile. Louis’s not sure he’s convinced, though. “Next round’s on John,” he announces, almost shy, and pulls a wallet out of his pocket.

Louis’s laugh is utterly delighted, and Zayn grins at it, proud enough that glow is coming back, a bit at least. “Next round’s on John,” Louis agrees, and watches as Zayn sips at the beer, making a face as it goes down, because it is admittedly shit. He wonders just what Zayn sees, when he sees Louis look at him.

\---

The next score goes even more smoothly. Zayn’s a natural, and Louis thinks it must be more than that Louis trained him that makes them work together so smoothly, like they can read each other’s mind. They rip off a mine owner for hundreds of credits, and it’s not the biggest score Louis’s ever had but it feels like it, for the delight with which Zayn grins when Louis shows him the prize. They run a game on the owner of the game rooms in the next camp, and it’s a pleasure to watch Zayn work, how he wraps the woman around his finger until he saunters away with everything they want. They run and they laugh and Zayn grows and grows and grows, meets every challenge with a set jaw and a steely determination that makes Louis just want to sit back and watch as he takes over the world.

If he still sees how Louis looks at him, they don’t talk about it. Zayn hasn’t mentioned anything about them fucking since that night in the bar, and Louis’s happy to keep it that way. He’s been trying to figure out how the hell to get Zayn freed, when apparently nothing about his enslavement was on the up and up except for the chain and the lock that Louis can’t get off without proper authorization from the Registry, but until then Zayn is still technically Louis’s slave,.

And more than that—Louis can’t forget, what he’s been through. Not when there’s still a wariness in how he looks at Louis sometimes, in how he flinches when Louis touches him. And he’s so young, sometimes. Or maybe Louis just feels ancient, because they’re almost the same age, really. But he’s got a wide-eyed delight at things Louis found boring years ago, an innocence to him. He was terribly sheltered, in a weird way. Louis’s the first person he’s met who’s been properly kind to him in years, probably. He can’t take advantage of that. No matter what Zayn looks like in the midst of a con. No matter how cute he is in the mornings, his nose wrinkled and his lips pouting until Louis snorts and throws a caffeine pill at him. No matter the way he giggles into Louis’s shoulder sometimes, his eyes sparkling in a way Louis couldn’t have imagined when he’d first seen him.

\---

“Louis!” Zayn bounces up to Louis, where he’s sitting at the edge of the cantina, looking out at the market. They just got into Hull Camp last night, and he hadn’t even asked Louis to come with him when Zayn had gone exploring in the morning, not even in that roundabout way he’d perfected, when he wanted something but didn’t want to ask for it. It’s the first time Zayn had wanted to go off on his own. So Louis had gone down to the cantina that overlooked the market, idly watching for marks, or if there was anything he wanted to buy or nick. “Louis, look what I got.”

“Zayn—” Louis starts, as Zayn reaches for his bag, but Zayn shakes his head impatiently.

“I paid for it,” he informs Louis, still with that proud grin on. Louis’d thought he was gorgeous once, sulking and afraid; it’s nothing compared to him grinning like this. “Look!” He pulls out a jacket. It’s not a big thing, but it looks soft and warm, in the dark blue Louis’s always thought of as his favorite color. It might not be fancy, but the quality is clear; it probably cost a pretty penny.

Louis smiles too, because he knows Zayn spending his own money is a big step, something he wouldn’t have dared do a few months ago. “It’s great, Zayn.”

“It’s for you.” Zayn thrusts it out, towards Louis, and Louis shies away.

“What?”

“It’s for you.” Zayn keeps holding it out, still with that excited smile. “Your old jacket’s falling apart, and I know you get cold. So, here!”

Louis can feel his smile fading. He’d meant for Zayn to spend his money on him, not Louis. For him to realize he can be himself, not have to please Louis. “Zayn, you didn’t have to. That money was for you.”

“I know that.” Zayn’s grin is fading too, into a set-jaw determination that Louis recognizes from whenever a challenge is set in front of him. “I wanted to get you something.”

“You don’t have to.” Louis pushes at Zayn’s hand, so he’ll take the jacket back. The lovely, beautiful jacket that Zayn chose for him. Sometimes, Louis wishes he were just a little worse of a person. That he didn’t have to be a better person, around Zayn. “You don’t have to pay me back.”

“It’s not—like, I know. You made that very clear.” Zayn rubs at the back of his neck, which has gone a little red. “I just… This is, like, a thank you gift. That’s allowed, right? Because you’ve—you’ve changed my life. You saved me. I think this is the least I can do, yeah?”

He’s just looking at Louis, with those big, earnest eyes, and Louis can’t meet his gaze. It would be so easy for Zayn to have gone fully cynical, to have lost the sweetness in him, but it’s still there, taking Louis out at the knees. Sweet, clever, kind Zayn. And Louis, who’s a con man and a thief.

“Thanks, then,” he mutters, and takes the jacket. Zayn watches with pride as Louis puts it on. Of course it fits perfectly.

“Looks good,” Zayn tells him, tugging at the collar so it sits right. His knuckles brush against Louis’s jaw, and he’s close like this, close enough Louis can see each of his eyelashes, the little faults in his skin.

Louis swallows, and pushes that back. He can’t. He won’t. Zayn isn’t flinching away, is trusting Louis to be this close, and that’s what matters. “Feels good,” he tells Zayn, and eases away from him, before the temptation gets too much. “You didn’t have to, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Zayn’s watching Louis with a look Louis can’t read, like he’s trying to find something in Louis. Louis doesn’t know if he finds it or not, or if it’s good he doesn’t. “Now, do we have a job?”

Louis glances around, then gets off his stool. “I think I’ve found us something, yeah.”

\---

They’re in a bar in one of the southern camps, one of the prosperous ones Louis sort of hates, despite the opportunities there. It’s a camp, but it almost feels like a city. Like they don’t know the suffering of people in the camps in the North, where no one has enough food and people sell themselves into slavery for just the chance to eat. No one here would understand why Zayn did what he did. Some of them even call a slave an indent, like they were supposed to be—like the contract matters.

But the truth is that Louis has to follow the money, so he and Zayn are in the South. And he’s had fun showing Zayn more of the world; seeing the green fields down here had had him wide eyed in the way Louis loves. Likes. Loves to see.

Louis leans back against the pub table, and watches Zayn at the bar, as he leans over it to ask for their drinks. He hadn’t known how alone he felt, before Zayn. Before he had a companion to come with him, to laugh and joke with. To run games with, and to trust. Because he does trust Zayn, in a way he’s never trusted anyone before. He doesn’t know why, or how—it’s only been a few months, and there’s still the quiet discomfort of the gold chain around Zayn’s wrist. But he does. And there’s a relief to that he’s never known.

Zayn finishes talking to the bartender, and settles back down onto a stool to wait. He’s wearing the belt Louis’d nicked him—well, he’s wearing all clothes Louis got him, because he doesn’t have many others, though he’s been acquiring more, clearly figuring out what he likes. But he and Louis are enough the same size they can share, especially now that Zayn’s been eating more, isn’t just skin and bones and eyes. And right now, the belt is there, the first gift Louis’d given him. It’s cinched around his narrow waist, and Louis looks away from it guiltily.

“Who’s that?” Louis glances over. He hadn’t even noticed Liam arriving, which says something about how much Zayn distracts him. “He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s my partner.” It comes out shorter than Louis’d meant, and he shakes his head to clear it, then grins. “Hey, bro. Long time no see.”

“Too long.” Liam pulls him into a rough hug. He’s still the same as he is every time Louis comes through, big and solid, with his disarmingly innocent smile and friendly manner that hide the fact that he’s one of the most reliable fences Louis knows. “How have you been? When did you get a partner? When did you get a partner who looks like that?”

Louis laughs, and shoves him away. He’s never able to stay mad at Liam long. “I’ve been good. And I, um. Picked him up in the North. Been teaching him, and all.”

“Good for you.” Liam’s gaze flicks over Zayn, as he takes the drinks, starts coming back to the table. “It’s not good for you to be alone so much.”

“It’s been nice not to be,” Louis admits, then Zayn’s there, and he hands Louis his beer before he turns to Liam with a wary gaze. “Zayn, this is Liam, he’s my friend here—the one I told you about? Liam, this is Zayn.”

“Nice to meet you.” Liam holds out his hand, and Zayn takes it cautiously. He’s not quite doing the thing he used to do, with Carter, but he’s a little bit closer to Louis than he would normally be. Louis nudges his hip, for comfort, and tries not to see how Liam lets his hand linger in Zayn’s, and how Zayn doesn’t flinch away immediately. “You’ve managed to put up with Louis longer than anyone I’ve known.”

“It’s not putting up,” Zayn retorts sharply, and Louis has to look down to hide his smile.

“You mean he doesn’t attack your nipples whenever he gets a chance?” Finally, Liam lets his hand drop. Zayn tucks his palm back against his thigh, but doesn’t look afraid, just confused.

“No?” he throws a worried look at Louis. “Should he?”

“Count your blessings he doesn’t.”

“I am right here, you know,” Louis objects, but Liam just smiles at him, almost a smirk.

“What else does Louis do?” Zayn asks, curiously, and Liam grins properly now.

“Oh, let me tell you.”

It keeps going. Liam regales Zayn with stories from Louis’s first few times through, the mistakes he made, how Liam had bailed him out, how much of an asshole he’d been. Still is, really. Louis protests once or twice, but he’s more focused on Zayn. Liam’s never been subtle, and his flirting now is just as blatant, but Zayn doesn’t seem put off by it, just listens intently to the most embarrassing stories Liam can think of. Louis can’t tell if he’s responding to the flirting, doesn’t even know if Zayn knows how to properly respond, but he seems to be enjoying it—giggling a bit, laughing at Liam’s jokes. Louis makes his fists uncurl from under the table. Zayn isn’t his, and Liam’s a great guy. If this is what he wants, it’s what he wants. Zayn should have everything he wants.

Finally, when Louis gets back from settling their tab, Liam’s got his hand on Zayn’s, their head bent together. This is it, then. This is good, Louis knows. That Zayn is flirting. That he’s recovering. Liam will treat him well. Louis’s stupid, inconvenient, totally inappropriate feelings can go fuck themselves, and he’ll stop staring wistfully at the curve of Zayn’s spine, how his hair is falling over the tattoos at his neck, any second now.

But then—Zayn’s sitting up, and shaking his head. Liam shrugs, and moves his hand away.

“I’m going to head out,” Liam says, when Louis rejoins them. Zayn’s biting his lip, nervous but not in the wild animal way he had been before. “I’ll see you later, Louis?”

“Yeah, we’ll stop by tomorrow.” Louis glances at Zayn, but he makes no move to leave. “Bye, bro.”

“Bye. Nice meeting you, Zayn.” He gives Zayn a big smile, because Liam takes rejection well. Rejection. Louis feels like he can breathe again.

Then he’s gone, and Zayn’s still chewing on his lip, not quite meeting Louis’s eyes.

Louis puts a hand on his shoulder, letting it settle when Zayn doesn’t move away. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Zayn looks up, suddenly. “He wanted me to go have dinner with him, tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Louis takes a deep breath. “You didn’t want to?”

Slowly, Zayn shakes his head. “No. I didn’t. Not because he’s not great!” he adds, quickly, his eyes widening almost frantically as if a thought just occurred to him. “I know he’s your friend, and he seemed amazing, I like him a lot, it wasn’t that, he’s just not—if that wasn’t right, if I made things bad between you, I can—”

“Zayn.” Louis cuts him off. “Zayn, it’s fine, Liam won’t care, and if he did, fuck him.”

Zayn blinks. “What?”

“If he cared that you said no, was an ass about it, then fuck him. You’ve got a right to say no to whoever you like, my friend or not.” Louis can feel Zayn relaxing under his hand, and another one of those murderous rages at Carter sweeps through him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Zayn nods, but he’s still clearly nervous. “I did—it was nice, to meet him. To hear about you.”

Louis shrugs. “I’m not nearly as awful as he thinks I am.”

“I know.” Zayn smiles at him, and Louis’s definitely not blushing. He’s a hardened criminal. He’s not blushing at Zayn’s smile and praise, because he is actually as awful as Liam thinks he is. Zayn just hasn’t seen the worst of him.

They get upstairs to their room, each of them in their own bed, before Louis gets up the courage to ask. “Zayn.”

“Hm?” Zayn hums, into the darkness. Louis can hear his bed creaking as he moves.

“You don’t have to answer, but…” Louis trails off. He doesn’t know quite how to phrase the question. “Downstairs, with Liam. You acted like—did Carter ever make you, with his friends…” he can’t bring himself to say it. He’s not sure he wants to know. Zayn hasn’t said anything about what happened before anyway, he probably won’t answer now.

There’s a breath. Louis’s almost glad he can’t see Zayn’s face, just the outline of his body under his blanket.

It’s quiet for so long Louis thinks Zayn isn’t going to answer, which is fine. Which Louis might almost take as an answer, and he’s going to kill Carter the next time he sees him, will hunt him down and make him hurt for what he did to Zayn, to a desperate boy who’d needed care, not to be taken advantage of when he just needed food.

Finally, “No,” Zayn says. “No, he didn’t. He liked to keep me for himself.” It’s more than Zayn’s ever said about Carter. “But he threatened to, sometimes. If I—if I ever said I didn’t want to, or anything.” Zayn’s voice is hoarse, but he keeps forcing himself to talk. “Said he’d let them share me, that I had it good with him and I should appreciate that. That he could whore me out, if he wanted, and I should be happy he liked me.” He pauses, then adds. “I’m not sure what I would have done if he had tried.”

For a second, Louis can’t force anything out of his throat, for the anger. Killing’s too good for Carter. He’ll throw him in a mine and let him suffocate slowly. He’ll take him to the London Wastes and let the radiation turn him slowly into something unrecognizable. He’ll make every fucking person involved in it hurt in every way he knows possible.

“Louis?” comes Zayn’s voice again, smaller, and Louis forces that anger away. Carter’s not here. Zayn is.

“That…” Louis shakes his head. “I’m going to kill him, next time I see him.”

It gets a laugh out of Zayn, impossibly. “Thank you, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t reply. Doesn’t know what to say to that. You’re welcome is too small, but there’s nothing Louis can say. Nothing he can do, that’ll make up for it. Nothing but to help Zayn become what he can be, should be, until everything Carter did is burned away.

Or, there’s one thing he can say. But he can’t say that either. Can’t let Zayn hear it, when there’s so many bonds of obligation and ownership between them. He’s been through so much. Louis won’t let him carry that too. Won’t let it push him anywhere he doesn’t want to go.

He waits until Zayn’s asleep, until he’s absolutely sure of it. Then Louis sighs.

“I love you,” he says, into the darkness. The only reply is Zayn’s sleeping breaths.

\---

Louis takes him off the roads one day, as they cross towards Dover and the seaport there. He climbs a hill, Zayn beside him, until they find the old, old bench at the top—a leftover from Before, somehow surviving through everything that’s happened. Louis thinks about this bench more than he should, probably. If he were a poet, he’d write something about it.

As he’s not, he just brings Zayn there, settles onto it with Zayn next to him. From here, they can see almost to the sea—they can definitely see the sickly green glow of the London Wastes, and maybe, past it, to the bright lights of Paris.

“Have you ever been to a city?” Zayn asks. Their thighs are pressed together, though the bench is big enough for them to sit apart; if Louis was a better man he’d move away. But it’s cold, he reasons. Cold, and Zayn’s still not quite gotten to a healthy weight, or what passes for healthy anywhere but the cities. And Louis’s in the jacket Zayn had bought him, warm and soft, so it’s only fair to share that. He should encourage Zayn’s new comfort with touching, even if it doesn’t seem to carry over to anyone but Louis.

“Yeah, once.” Louis looks out in the direction of Paris. “Bribed a captain to take me from Dover.”

Zayn hums curiously. “What was it like? Was it like everyone says?”

“It was…” Louis tries to think of a word. He doesn’t want to ruin Zayn’s illusions. “Shiny,” he finishes. It had been horrible. Shiny, yes. Shiny and metal, far away from the burlap and wood of the camps, the rickety structures about to topple at any moment. If Louis didn’t like the southern camps, he hated the cities, in their glitter and blindness. How none of them looked underfed, like Louis’s sisters always had; how none of them had the scars or features that meant you’d been born too close to a Waste. He hadn’t even tried a con there; he’d known he’d never fit in enough in a thousand years, not unless he stood in the center of a Waste and let the radiation do a miracle. He’d caught the first boat back. “Not a good place for someone like me, though. I’d never win their confidence. Too shiny.”

“Never met anything too shiny for me,” Zayn mumbles. There’s a weight on his shoulder; Louis looks down to find Zayn’s head resting there, his arm loose around Louis’s waist. Zayn looks half asleep, gilded in the moonlight. Like this, he looks like he could be of the cities, so beautiful and untouched, turned into one of the statues Louis’d seen in Paris. But he’s not, Louis knows. He’s of the camps as much as Louis is. They shaped him even more than they did Louis. But maybe he could fit in there, in a way Louis never could. “We could go one day. Run a game. You’ve got me now, maybe it’d work.”

“Yeah.” Louis lets his hand go around Zayn’s shoulders. Friendly, he tells himself. He’s being friendly, sharing body heat, letting Zayn doze. “You’re shiny enough for them.”

“So’re you.” Zayn glances up through his lashes. It’s a more devastating look than anything he’s given on the con, anything he’s put on. “Shiny enough for anyone.”

With the shift in their positions—if he was anyone else, Louis would kiss him now. In the moonlight, when Zayn looks soft, like he might have been if desperation never led to the chain around his wrist.

But he’s not anyone. And Louis can’t even suggest that, because he doesn’t know what Zayn would think he’d have to do, or what he’d do in gratitude.

So instead, he laughs, and looks away from Zayn. Away from the temptation he can’t let himself give into, because he isn’t shiny, not like Zayn thinks he is, but he won’t be that. Not when Zayn’s leaning so trustingly against him. “Nah, I’m not. But we’ll make it work.”

Zayn lets out a long breath. “We will,” Zayn agrees, and then they lapse into silence, looking out over the countryside, on their worn bench that survived the world ending.

\---

In Dover, Zayn almost gets caught. It’s a stupid, amateur mistake, one Louis should have seen coming but he didn’t anticipate. A movement a bit too fast, not taking into account the mark’s extra canniness—stupid, preventable, and then there’s a woman who’s caught Zayn with his hand on her wallet, and Louis’s across the market, too far away to do anything.

Normally, it wouldn’t be much of an issue—maybe a few punches would be thrown, maybe Zayn’d have to run—but this is Dover, and it’s closer to the cities than any other camp. Zayn could get locked up. Zayn could get _sold_ , because he’s still got the gold chain on, the one Louis is getting increasingly afraid he’ll have to go to Paris to get sorted out, because he’s conned every system but apparently this is one he can’t cut through. Louis had warned Zayn, warned him about Dover, about the risks here—and now Zayn’s standing next to a woman with city sheen on her, caught.

No matter how fast Louis moves, he can’t make his way across the square fast enough. Too many fucking people in the way, keeping him from Zayn. If something happens—Zayn’s so wary of being vulnerable, and this is the most vulnerable he’s been. He hasn’t been prepared for this, for worst case scenarios. Louis can’t even hear what’s happening, but he can read the body language. The woman’s fear and scorn, how her mouth opens to yell for the police, and Louis’s looking for escape routes—then he sees Zayn tilt his head down, a coquettish gesture that’s almost like the ones Louis’d seen him making to Carter, where he’s making himself smaller, but different somehow—more controlled. He slows, a smidgen, to watch as Zayn smiles, and says something—then the woman smiles back.

It takes minutes, maybe, then Zayn’s drawing her hand up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of it, and is slipping back through the crowd, to end up next to Louis.

Louis grabs his shoulders, probably too rough but he doesn’t care. “Are you okay?” he demands, “What happened?”

Zayn had gone still under Louis’s demanding hands, but now he relaxes. He’s grinning, bright and adrenaline filled, his eyes sparkling under the bright summer sun. “Nothing, Lou. I’m fine.”

“Are you…” Louis glances over him, but there’s none of the fear that had characterized him early on. Nothing to show he isn’t just buzzing from a close shave. “You didn’t…”

“I’m fine.” Zayn says it like Louis’s little sisters used to, like he’s humoring Louis’s concern. “She just needed some convincing to let me go.”

“Convincing?”

Zayn smirks, and pulls a bracelet out of his pockets. “She gave it to me. To help buy my freedom back, from my master who makes me steal.” At Louis’s look, he laughs. “Might as well use it, right? Make people think I need saving.”

It’s clever. A part of Louis is prouder of Zayn than he’s ever been. Part of him, though… “Is that what you did with me?” he asks, before he can think better of it. He remembers how Zayn had looked back at that camp with Carter, how Louis’d barely thought before he was winning Zayn’s chain. “Make me think you needed saving?”

Zayn’s smile softens, and then his hand is on Louis’s cheek. His teeth dig into his lip for a second before he speaks. “No. Then, I really did need saving.” His fingers are soft on Louis’s skin, and Louis can’t breathe. There’s a whole market around them, so many people, and they need to leave before the woman thinks better of giving her bracelet away, but Louis’s frozen, by Zayn’s hand on him, by the sincerity of him. Louis’s been teaching Zayn for so long, soothing out the wild animal instincts, but he feels like the animal now, bewitched by Zayn’s touch.

Then he remembers himself, and pulls his head away. “Well, I’m proud of you. That was quick thinking.” He ruffles Zayn’s hair, as Zayn’s hand falls slowly back to his side. “Now. Let’s get out of here before she realizes you played her.”

“Yeah.” Some of the adrenaline’s drained out of Zayn, clearly, and Louis could curse himself for doing that. “Yeah, let’s go.”

\---

Zayn meets Harry in the Cheshire camp, in the market—apparently, to hear Zayn tell it, Harry was haggling over the price of a scarf, and Zayn helped him get a good deal because he can’t watch someone fail that badly. He seems like a nice boy, Louis admits. Nice and kind, and he makes Zayn smile and laugh. He touches Zayn like he should be touched, gently and carefully and watching for Zayn’s reaction, but not condescendingly; he doesn’t seem to notice the chain on his wrist. Zayn seems to like him. It’s good for Zayn to have a friend, Louis knows. And it’s not like he could do anything about it, as Zayn scampers off every day, off to explore the camp with Harry.

It’s what he should do, Louis knows. It’s what he should do. He tells himself that, over and over, and tries to ignore how Harry looks at Zayn, like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, because he is but Louis shouldn’t think that. Zayn wants Harry. That’s fine.

“Louis?” Zayn says, tapping Louis on the back. Louis turns on his barstool. He’d been waiting for Zayn here for a full half hour. Zayn’s often late, it doesn’t matter, but—but now he’s with Harry. Even now, Harry’s hovering behind him, looking somewhere between curious and confused.

“Hey.” Louis nods at him, then, through great force of will. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi!” Harry grins at him, dimpling. He doesn’t seem to notice how much Louis would like to shove him away from Zayn.

“You ready to go, then?” Louis asks Zayn. They’d made vague plans to go case out the local game runner’s place, see what they could do with it.

Zayn’s gaze skirts away from Louis, back towards Harry. “Um. Could you, like. You can handle it yourself, right?”

Louis can feel his heart crack. “Why?”

“Because Harry said, like, it’s his sister’s birthday party, and we were going to go? If that’s all right with you? It’s just, we can do our stuff another night, right?”

They can. They can do their stuff another night and it’s a perfectly reasonable request and Louis can feel his hands curling around his beer mug. No. No, it’s not all right. No, Louis’s heart is breaking, because Zayn and Harry flirt and now Zayn is going to his house, and Louis knows where that could lead. Where it should leave, if Zayn wants it, because if he’s ready Louis’s proud of him.

“Yeah,” he forces out. He can be a good person for once. He can be the person Zayn believes he is. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He even manages a smile. “Have fun.”

“Thanks!” Harry chirps, and turns to go, but Zayn hesitates. His hand drops to Louis’s shoulder, warm and solid. Louis wants to grab him and never let go. But he can’t. Zayn can do what he wants, and what he wants is Harry. He’d never wanted Louis, not really. Just when he thought that he had to, to repay him. Louis’s the idiot who fell in love.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Zayn asks, leaning in closer, so his body curves around Louis. “I don’t have to, if you don’t want me to.”

Louis swallows. “No. It’s fine. Have fun.” He’s a good liar. He hopes it works this time.

Zayn hesitates a moment longer, then he’s gone.

Louis hails the bartender. “I’m going to need a lot more alcohol,” he tells her.

\---

Louis is drunk. Louis is very drunk, and very pathetic, sitting alone on his barstool drinking maudlinly through his bottle of moonshine, waiting as the world goes fuzzier. When the world is fuzzy, his heart hurts a lot less.

“It’s good,” he tells the bartender, or maybe nobody. The air. He needs to hear it, maybe. “He’s good. It’s good for him. I wouldn’t be.” He nods to himself. That’s true. “He deserves everything he wants.” There. That’s true. Louis knows that. Like he knows he isn’t what Zayn wants. “He—”

“Louis?” Louis spins, nearly falls off his stool. It’s Zayn. Or more precisely, it’s two of Zayn, double the pretty, double the concerned look and big eyes.

“Zayn!” Louis knows he’s probably hallucinating. Zayn is with Harry. Zayn is with Harry, and he better treat him well. Better be everything he should be to Zayn, or Louis will have words. Possibly with his fists. “Zayn, you aren’t here, not really.”

“Okay.” Zayn’s smiling. Louis likes it when Zayn smiles at him. Louis likes it when Zayn smiles at all, now that he’s learned to. “I like it when you smile too.”

“What?”

Zayn’s shaking his head. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“How? You’re not here,” Louis points out, but Zayn’s awfully solid for a hallucination, warm under Louis’s arm as he slides under it, levering Louis up. “Zayn?”

“Let’s go, Louis.” They’re moving. Louis’s very confused. Zayn’s not here. Zayn’s with Harry. Zayn would rather be with Harry than with him.

Louis would like to think about that, but it’s taking all his concentration just to put one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t even know how they get upstairs, just that they’re there, and then Louis’s on his bed, and he’s starting to suspect Zayn isn’t a hallucination.

“Are you real?” he asks, suspiciously.

Zayn laughs. It’s the best sound Louis’s ever heard. “Maybe.”

“That doesn’t help.” Louis groans. “You can’t be real. You’re with Harry.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. You wanted to go with Harry. So you did,” Louis explains. The Zayn hallucination is a good listener. He hasn’t been able to tell anyone this, and it’s good to say. Louis’s not meant to keep everything in. He’s shit at keeping secrets, for a con man, and he’s kept this secret for too long. “You did, and I got drunk.”

“Why’d me going with Harry mean you have to get drunk?” Zayn asks. His hands are gentle, as he eases Louis’s boots off, but his voice isn’t quite right. There’s something tense about it. Something strung tight like a bowstring.

“Because.” It makes sense. Louis flops back on the bed. “I didn’t want to think about it.”

“About what?”

“You and Harry.” Louis shudders, and pushes the thought away. “You and anyone else.”

“Louis…”

But Louis’s fading before he can hear what Zayn has to say, falling asleep into a place where he doesn’t have to think about anything.

\---

Louis wakes with his head aching before he even opens his eyes. Even the little bit of light that gets through his eyelids is too much for him. He doesn’t want to know what was in that moonshine last night.

Suddenly, the light’s gone, and there’s a glass in his hand. It’s like magic. “Drink,” comes Zayn’s voice, soft, and Louis can only obey. Then the glass is gone, and there are pills in his hand. “Take these.”

Louis forces his eyes open at that, to look at the pills with his eyes as narrowed as they can. “Where—”

“They’re good. I checked. Made sure to get them from a good place. Harry told me where was reliable.”

Louis can’t process the mention of Harry’s name, just takes the pills. Maybe it’s placebo, but it feels like his head starts feeling better right away, and he opens his eyes.

He’s in their room. Right. Because Zayn had helped him back last night, and he’d babbled—shit, he barely remembers. He hopes he hadn’t said anything he shouldn’t have. Hadn’t said anything Zayn didn’t need to hear.

Zayn’s sitting on the other bed. He’s mussed like from sleep—or, maybe, from someone else. Maybe he got Louis into bed and went back to Harry. Maybe he came back after being with Harry. He’s so gorgeous Louis could ache from it, if he weren’t busy aching from other things.

“Hey.” Louis blinks, and manages to sit up. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Zayn pushes his hair back. There’s something about him this morning, something different. It’s not something to raise Louis’s hackles, but it puts him a little on edge. “Feeling all right?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m gonna take a shower. Maybe that’ll help.”

Zayn nods. Louis isn’t fleeing, he’s just…making a tactical retreat, until his head can work.

The shower makes him feel more human. He pulls on some clothes, then looks at himself in the mirror. He looks pale and sickly still. He looks old, worn, not like Harry is. Zayn deserves someone who’ll make him feel young.

When he comes out, Zayn’s still sitting on the other bed, looking at his hands. Looking at his wrist, maybe. At the chain there.

“Have fun last night?” Louis asks breezily, dropping back onto his bed. The hangover’s basically receded. Those drugs really were good. Stupid Harry. Louis doesn’t want to feel grateful to him. “Harry show you a good time?”

“No.”

Louis starts, then he’s on his feet. Is that what’s off? “What? Did he hurt you? Did he do anything you didn’t—”

“No, no!” Zayn’s voice cuts through Louis’s demands “No, I mean, it was fine, he didn’t—it was fun enough, yeah. But, like.” He pauses, and Louis settles back down onto the bed. That wasn’t embarrassing enough by half. “I’m not fucking Harry.”

“What?”

“I’m not having sex with Harry.” Zayn looks up, his gaze intent. “I don’t want to have sex with Harry.”

Louis doesn’t know how to react to that. It’s good. It’s better. It gives Louis a little more time with Zayn, time for them to be together like this, before Zayn finds someone better and leaves. But it’s not like it won’t happen eventually, like Zayn won’t find someone who he does want, and Louis will lose him, as if he ever had him. “Okay,” he goes for, at least. “Well. If you don’t want to, then don’t.”

Zayn rises as he goes on. Deliberately, he crosses the space between their beds. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone—”

“Totally understandable—”

“Except you.”

Louis freezes. He can’t have heard that. He can’t. Maybe these drugs are making him hear things. “What?”

“You heard me.” Zayn’s chin is jutting out, set, but there’s uncertainty in his gaze. Fear. Fear like Louis hasn’t seen in him in a while.

“You—I told you, you don’t have to.” He’d been doing so well. Louis had thought they were over this particular torture. Thought Zayn had understood, had realized he was worth more than this. It’s been months since Zayn propositioned him. “You don’t have to pay me back, and definitely not like this.”

“I know.” The bravado is fading from Zayn, and he hovers at the end of the bed, just in Louis’s reach. “I know. I know you don’t, like, want to. Want me. But it’s the truth. And, like. I thought, maybe—with what you were saying last night—you were maybe okay with it?”

“Okay with it?” Louis echoes. His head hurts. Zayn thinks he doesn’t want Zayn. Zayn wants him. But does he really? What had Louis said, had he hinted anything… Louis can’t risk that, won’t. Zayn aside, it would break Louis, if Zayn did anything solely out of obligation.

“I know how you, like.” Zayn ducks his head, and he’s looking smaller, drawing in. Louis’s not sure what to do. For the first time in a long time, he’s not sure what to do. “Feel. About me.”

Louis chokes. “You do?” He’d known Zayn’d seen the attraction, but he’d hoped the feelings were more subtle. And this isn’t Zayn dancing for joy, which means that he can’t do anything with him. Clearly his feelings for Zayn are an imposition. Forcing him to do this.

“Yeah. You’ve made it clear, yeah?” Zayn rubs at his neck, as Louis wonders how much he’ll have to drink to forget this. “I know you’re disgusted by me, and all that. I don’t blame you. You know what Carter did, what he had me do, I’d be disgusted too.”

“Disgusted?” Louis echoes. Zayn thinks—what? He can’t have Zayn thinking that, he knows that much.

“Yeah.” Zayn glances up, suddenly, his eyes earnest, intent. Determined like he is with a lock. “But, like. I’m clean, I swear. And I—it means I know how to be good, I know—”

“Shut up,” Louis snaps. He can’t hear that.

Zayn’s mouth snaps shut, and he flinches.

“Shit, no, Zayn.” Louis reaches out, and somehow his hand is cupping Zayn’s cheek. “I’m not disgusted. Why would you think that?”

“You—you said. Before. That you wouldn’t sleep with me, not after what I went through.” Zayn blinks, but he’s not moving away from Louis’s touch. He’s trembling, but set. So brave, in a way Louis’s in awe of. “Then, I mean. I know you’re attracted to me, but you haven’t done anything about it, not even when I tried… So, it’s clear, isn’t it?”

Louis takes a deep breath. “No. No, that’s not—I’m not disgusted, Zayn. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of to survive.”

“Then why?” Zayn’s head tilts under Louis’s hand. “Why won’t you fuck me? You want to.”

“Because I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“I…” It goes against everything Louis knows, to say it, to lay everything out there, but Zayn’s cornered him well. It was always going to come to this, anyway. Ever since Louis’d seen Zayn pet that cat. Since the first time Zayn smiled at him for real, and Louis felt that urge despite himself, to deserve that smile. “I won’t let you sleep with me just because I want to. Not out of gratitude or repayment or anything. You’re worth more than that.” This was so much easier months ago, when Louis hadn’t really known Zayn. When there was just the temptation of his body. Not the temptation of his everything, of this whole man Louis loves.

“What if I want to too?” There’s that glint in Zayn’s eyes. “It’s not because I’m grateful, or need to repay you—though I am, and I do. Just because I want to fuck you.”

“Zayn.” Louis lets his hand drop, down to Zayn’s shoulder, his forearm. He can be good. He can be the person Zayn thinks he is. “You don’t—you don’t have to settle for me. I know I’m the person you’ve been around the most, and that makes you think you’re feeling something, but like, there’s plenty of—”

“It’s not settling.” Zayn’s voice is sharp, suddenly. Then his hand’s on Louis’s neck, his cheek. Louis’s never felt smaller than Zayn, never felt weak next to him, but he does now. Feels like he could break under the warmth of Zayn’s skin. “You saved me, Louis. Then you taught me to save myself. Now.” He takes a step closer to Louis, so there’s barely a breath between them. “I want you to teach me what sex can be, when it’s not, like. Fucked up.”

Louis’s trembling. He can feel it. “Zayn, there’s still the—I haven’t managed to get you unregistered, I can’t get the chain off, you’re technically a slave, I can’t—”

“Do you think of me like that?” Zayn demands.

“Of course not.”

“You never make me feel like that, either.” Zayn’s hand is gentle on Louis, like Louis’s the one who’ll break. “You were the first person in a long time who didn’t. Who made me feel like I had worth. Now I’m choosing this.”

“There are better people, Zayn. You don’t have to be with me because—”

“Louis.” Zayn’s arms are around his neck now, and there isn’t any space between them at all. “Show me.”

Louis knows he should be a good person. Should say no. Should have some sense of self-preservation, because Zayn might trust him enough to be the first person after Carter to fuck him but Louis’s in love and that’ll only hurt.

But Louis’s not a good person, despite what Zayn thinks. And he’s never had any self-preservation instincts.

He slides a hand behind Zayn’s head, twining his fingers gently through his hair. “This is how it starts.”

Zayn’s mouth opens on a question, and Louis kisses it away.

\---

“You do take care of me, you know.” Louis traces a finger up Zayn’s bare stomach idly, watching as it makes Zayn smile lazily. He’s not tensing under Louis’s touch, not even a little.

“How?”

“You watch my back. No one ever did that before.” Louis glances down at his hand on Zayn again, then back up at him. “You make me better. You make me want to be better.”

“Nah.” Zayn smiles again, soft like nothing is in this world, really. How he’s managed to keep that smile in a world that’s been so cruel to him, Louis doesn’t know, but Zayn’s stronger than Louis can conceive of, he thinks. Louis wants to bottle that smile up and keep it forever. Wants to clutch it to him like the blanket he’d slept with when he was a kid. “You’ve always been good.”

“That’s—”

“But I’m still mad at you.”

“Mad?” Louis repeats. He’d thought—Zayn doesn’t seem mad, he seems relaxed, seemed like he’d enjoyed everything. If Zayn’d felt the least bit forced…

“You kept secrets.”

“It wasn’t—I didn’t want you to feel obligated, that’s all.” It’s part of it, at least. Enough of it.

Zayn rolls over, so he can push himself up on one arm and look down at Louis. His gaze is dark and serious, but there’s no hint of the fear Louis’d known in it for so long. “I get to choose, Louis. I get to choose what I do with myself.”

“I know, that’s why—”

Zayn cuts him off. “And I can’t do that if you keep secrets like this. Even if you think it’s for my own good. You don’t have to take care of me, anymore. I can choose what’s best for myself.”

Louis opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s right. Zayn needs all the information, before he can choose Louis, or choose to leave. “I love you.”

That surprises Zayn, his eyes going big but not afraid. “What?”

“You wanted all the information.” Louis tries to shrug, like the words haven’t ripped something out of him. “There. Now you have it.”

“Oh.” Zayn’s still clearly shocked, but he’s not leaving, even if he’s not saying it back. Louis doesn’t expect him to, really. “Thank you,” he says instead, and leans down to kiss Louis. Louis kisses him back, drinking him in as much as he can. Zayn didn’t say it back. Butt if Zayn’s chosen him despite everything, he’ll take this as long as he can get it.

\---

The lock clicks, and then Zayn stares at his wrist, sitting on the office table. The gold chain lies beneath it, not wrapped around his wrist at all.

“Sign here,” the bored bureaucrat tells him. Zayn takes the stylus like he’s in a daze, scrawls his signature across the bottom of the tablet. Louis watches from the corner. He doesn’t look any different, this new, free Zayn. Still looks like the same man who’s been running with Louis for almost a year now. But something’s different. His wrist is bare, at last.

“Now you,” the bureaucrat tells Louis, and Louis steps forward to sign it. Zayn’s still staring at his wrist like he can’t believe it. He’s free, now. Free to do whatever he wants. Free to go wherever he wants. The world’s at his feet, and Louis knows he could get it all, if he wanted.

Louis swallows. The whole world at his feet, and now nothing is tying him to Louis, really nothing. What’s one thief and conman compared to the world, no matter what ties of gratitude there are? Or even affection, because Louis’s not stupid enough to think Zayn isn’t fond of him. But he could go now. Maybe he should go now.

“You’re all set,” the bureaucrat tells them, yawning. He glances over their shoulder, clearly ready to move on.

“I’m—that’s all?” Zayn asks, incredulous.

“That’s all.” The bureaucrat nods. “Now, I have another appointment…”

They take the hint, go. Zayn’s rubbing at his wrist like a reflex, as they walk out into the Manchester camp. He’s blinking, looking around.

“Nice symbolism, yeah?” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said to Louis since they stepped into the office. “Getting free here.”

Louis shrugs. He guesses it is. He doesn’t care about that sort of shit, not like Zayn does. Maybe Zayn will find a way to one of the city universities. Louis’s never heard of anyone from the camps getting in, but if anyone could, it would be Zayn.

“How’s it feel? To be a free man?” He grins. This is a good day for Zayn. He’ll treat it as such. “What are you going to do first? There are so many options. You could—”

Louis’s cut off by Zayn’s lips on his. He was as quick a learner in kissing as he was in everything else; he knows by now how to make Louis melt.

“That,” Zayn announces, grinning at what’s probably the expression on Louis’s face. “You thought I was going to leave, didn’t you?”

Louis rearranges his face into something that’s not stupid. “Maybe you should. You could do anything you want now, you don’t have to stay with me, you could—”

“Louis.” Zayn’s smiling fondly, and Louis has a sudden flashback to the last time they were here. On this corner even, he realizes—Zayn following him obediently, his shoulders curved, resigned to his fate. Louis hurrying so that Carter didn’t rethink his deal and set some thugs on them. Zayn’s blank face, Louis wondering what the hell had possessed him to make that bet.

Now Zayn’s smiling, grinning, and he’s standing straight and tall, and Louis’s sure that bet was the best he’d ever made.

“You’re free,” Louis repeats, glaring at Zayn because it’s better than looking away from him. “You can do what you want. You don’t have any obligation to stay with me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Zayn scolds, no hesitation in his argument, and then his fingers are sliding into Louis’s, his bare wrist bumping against Louis’s. “I’m not leaving. Partners, yeah?”

“Zayn—”

“Now,” Zayn cuts him off again, grinning mischievous and bright. “Do you want to run a game first, or go back to the rooms?”

Louis takes a deep breath. Zayn’s not leaving. Zayn’s here with him, his partner and his lover and so much more than anything Louis’s ever known before, who somehow believes Louis is that much more too.

“Game first,” he says, and tugs Zayn forward. Zayn laughs, gleeful, and falls into step with him. “And I have just the target in mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want to discuss? Comment or come chat on [ tumblr!](http://zaynandhisboys.tumblr.com/)


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